Dead Right Hand
by Quen Galad
Summary: We all know the cinematic: the right palm, dramatically upraised, dissolves into shiny dust. Gorion's Ward is dead and the story is over. It never is, of course, because we reload and try something new. But what if it was? What if Gorion's Ward found their death never even reaching Spellhold...? [Rated M for themes]
1. Imoen

'Empty... So... empty...'

Imoen sat on the narrow cot, re-braiding her hair. Nimble fingers worked on the sparse strands while her eyes looked blankly at the wall. She didn't notice the two figures outside the cell door. She didn't notice anything.

'She survived?'

'Yes. A surprise, I admit, since the process is rather... taxing, after all. How do you feel?'

'Incredible. Like I could take on the whole world. Although...'

'Yes? What is it? Some side effect, perhaps?'

'I don't know if it's a side effect. I simply feel... protective of this life, once again. I feel the need to just... enjoy myself, now that I have something to enjoy.'

'I see. Well, as long as it does not interfere with our plans, I have no objection. You still have some time before... what's his name...'

'I forget. Something beginning with A, I think. Just call him Gorion's Ward.'

'Why not? I estimate another week before Gorion's Ward gets here. Until then, you're free to, as you say, "enjoy yourself." Just don't forget what is to come after.'

'Don't worry, brother, I won't. Farewell for now, then.'

The figures went away, and only blessed silence remained. Imoen liked silence these days.

:::::

How many times has she braided and re-braided her hair? She didn't know. How long has she been here? She didn't know.

Why was she here?

Where was here, exactly?

Imoen sat on the narrow cot, re-braiding her hair again and looked blankly at the collection of precious stones before her. They were pretty, she had to admit. Not pretty enough to go crazy over, though.  
Such a silly man. What was his name? She didn't know. She did know that he was vexing, with his constant chatter and his fidgeting and his strange way of speaking. Yes, very vexing.  
She wanted him to be silent, so she silenced him.

Then there was the gnome. He just wouldn't stop blabbering. Imoen didn't want to listen to blabbering. She just wanted to be left alone. Alone and empty.  
So she silenced him, too.

The cell doors opened just as Imoen finished clasping a new braid in place. She raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled sweetly.

'I'm so glad you came,' she said.

'Are you, Imoen?'

'Yes, I am. Look, I've done my hair all nice for you. Isn't it pretty? Don't you like it when I'm pretty?'

'Your looks are really irrelevant to me, Imoen. I-'

'No they're not. Or they didn't use to be. I remember. You called me pretty a lot, back then. Back when you were so eager to show me. Do you remember? How you cut... and touched? You liked to do both.'

'I have had what I needed from you, Imoen, so none of that matters anymore.'

'So why do you come back?'

She let go of her hair and faced him squarely. There was something new in her, something... aware, something... sane? No, it couldn't be. All the same, he almost took a step back.

'You come back, because there is nothing else for you to do,' she said, and her young face held a sneer that put ancient vampires to shame. 'You have nowhere else to turn, no other hope, nothing. You only have me now.' She took a step towards him.

'It is true that your brother is taking his time rescuing you. I had thought your safety would be a more urgent concern for him.'

'Oh it was. It was, believe me. He would have done anything for me. He would have died for me.' She laughed, a pearly laughter of an expensive courtesan, and put her hands to her heart, showing off her red-stained fingernails. 'Adrian would have died for me. And he did.'

'What? What did you say?'

'You heard me. He's dead. Adrian is dead. He died last night.'

Irenicus gasped, sparks of raw power fizzling on his fingers as he lost control of his magic for a moment. 'How can you know this?'

'Oh I know. I felt it.' Imoen came up to him, close, closer than she would ever dare when she was... herself. But she wasn't, was she? Not anymore.  
Funny, she never noticed it before, but he was actually a little shorter than her.

'I felt his essence freed. I felt it dissolve back into the Abyss. I think all the Bhaalspawn must have felt it. There was so much... Daddy will be pleased.'

'No! He's not dead! He can't be dead!'

'Oh, but he is. I'm sure you have enough magic to check that, anyway. Go ahead, check.'

Irenicus stared at her, so funny in those ridiculous clothes, in that strange headgear of his. Did he know how ridiculous it made him look? Did he think it was intimidating? No class, no imagination at all. Imoen looked at her fingernails and clicked her tongue impatiently. 'I should redo all that, really I should. The colour is already draining. Are you still here, Irenicus? Go cast your spells. I'll wait.'

'Wait? What for?'

'For your return, silly.'

'Wha- Why would I come back?'

Honestly, was he always so slow? Imoen laughed at his expression.

'Because now that Adrian's dead, you're like me. Empty. Desperate. And wilting.'


	2. Irenicus

Divination magic did not lie. Gorion's Ward was dead.

Irenicus used every spell, every ritual he could think of. He watched the Bhaalspawn fall. He watched the laments of his friends. He watched the ensuing quarrel, the bitter partings.

He saw the end.

No! No, this was not possible. How could this be? The attack by the Shadow Thieves was a hitch in his plans, yes, but he had recovered so well! His capture, together with Imoen, his incarceration in Spellhold, which only served as a new and better laboratory, his complete success with Imoen's soul which even now served to restore Bodhi and prove his theories right! His perfect trap, prepared meticulously to lure Adrian right where he wanted him, to deliver his divine soul right into the ritual chamber!

It was all planned to test Adrian's limits, all difficult, but not impossible, all so perfectly planned...

Or so it seemed...

Irenicus screamed defiance at his scrying mirror. He smashed the polished glass, ground the shards to dust in his fist, hoping for the pain to jolt him, to wake him up. It couldn't be true! It couldn't! With an inarticulate roar, he unleashed the magic on his golems, his tools, his components. Worthless! All worthless!  
He barged into the laboratory. Terrified captives, bound and ready for sacrifice, stared at him with eyes mad from terror, but he barely saw them. He saw only their souls, pitiful weak souls that wouldn't sustain him for a day.  
To hell with them! To hell with them all!  
He screamed as the magic lacerated their very existence. He screamed at their torment, all the louder because he couldn't feel any of it.

:::::

He slammed the cell door open, part of him hoping to break it.

'I knew you'd be back. All those years, you only had Bodhi, and now you don't even have her, do you.'

'I still have you, Imoen, completely at my mercy.'

'But there is nothing left you can do to me, is there? Nothing that would make any difference. To either of us.'

He took a step towards her. 'Would you like to test that supposition?'

'Hah! You've tested me already, Irenicus, in every way possible. And you thought I was a sub-par Bhaalspawn, didn't you? That's why you started on me, that's why you threw me at Bodhi. You didn't want the meagre little Imoen for yourself, did you? Oh no, it was the mighty Adrian or nothing! And now that's exactly what you're gonna get.'

In two strides, Irenicus had her slammed against the wall, his hands at her throat. 'You think you're beyond my reach?' he growled. 'You think I can't give you more nightmares? Think again, Imoen, because right now I'm thinking about siring a quarter-divine brat on you and using that soul to restore myself. Better than nothing, isn't it?'

He saw her eyes widen in horror, felt the momentary ecstasy of having broken through to her. But it didn't last. Even as he choked her, even as he held her, controlling her body and her life, she was free of him.

'A... soulless woman... wouldn't bear... a soulful child...' she croaked.

He let go of her throat and just stood there, panting with rage. No! This was not over! He would- She reached out, and touched his face. Actually touched his face.

'But you should be happy, Irenicus. Adrian's death has made you feel again, hasn't it? You haven't felt anything for years, but now you feel... fear.' She stroked his cheek. 'Isn't that wonderful?'

He caught her hand and muttered a spell, then waited as the paralysis took hold. 'You're trying to provoke me, aren't you, Imoen. You're trying to get me to kill you, to end your misery. I will not give you that. There is still a chance for me to thrive and recover, and when I do, I will have use for a little... pet... like you.'

He slammed the cell door and ran to his laboratory, strands of spells weaving themselves in his mind.


	3. Bodhi

The air of the catacombs was cold and still, but it was not dead, because it was not silent. Faint, distant noises echoed in the stone corridors, sounds of groaning and shuffling that put mortal hair on edge, sounds of the restless dead.

One of them more restless than the others.

Bodhi lay motionless in her inner sanctum, her eyes closed, straining all her senses, exerting every spark of power she had. All over the catacombs, all over the city, her brood crept in the shadows and watched, and she watched with them, looking out of their eyes, listening with their ears, understanding with their minds.

She has never had to work so hard before, never had to strain herself so much. The rituals to augment her power over the brood were in themselves difficult and draining, and not all of them had agreed. Before she could send out her dozens of minds she had to put down several of the older vampires, weakening her cohorts. But this was not the time for half measures.

There was absolutely no light in the crypt, because there didn't need to be, but the pool of blood in the center still shone, very faintly, with each ripple. So did the markings around it, and the markings around Bodhi's coffin. And the markings on the ancient stone door. The old statues watched with blind eyes of stone as, under Bodhi's command, the air itself took on a shape and developed a hunger for the living. Unseen but thirsty creatures set forth to patrol the ancient passageways, waiting for the inevitable intrusion.

And up above, in the city, cloaked figures watched and asked and observed, each of them with a sliver of Bodhi's consciousness behind the eyes. Among the commoners and the nobility, in the crowds and in secret meetings, at the market stalls and in the offices, in beggars' rags and in wizard cowls, the red eyes watched, ready to sound the alarm at any moment.

Ready to warn Bodhi that her brother was coming. Coming for her, coming for the soul he had so foolishly bestowed on her before he was sure of his own restoration.

Irenicus could possibly find another Bhaalspawn, or someone else entirely, and repeat the whole process. But Bodhi knew he wouldn't, because right under his nose was a far simpler solution, and one that had already been tested and proven effective.

So let him come. He was a powerful mage, but she was a powerful vampire. And she was ready for him.


End file.
